


Comprehending Context

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Hotel Sex, M/M, Multi, Operas, Oral Sex, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night at the opera and slipping into their hotel room, Sniper has to air a grievance about the night’s entertainment.  Respecting their lover’s sacrifice for their sake, Heavy and Medic vow to make it up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comprehending Context

“I dunno how you two can bloody stand that rubbish,” Sniper groused, loosening his tie as he stepped into the hotel room they had rented.

Santa Fe was still awake and abuzz in the late night hours, twinkling lights outside their room's window in the streets below as cars zipped by to and from the city's hot spots. Heavy stepped over and drew the curtains, hopeful none had noticed the three men entering a room that contained only one king-sized bed. “Is not rubbish. Powerful music, voices to the heavens, raw emotion and sorrow and tragedy. Is beautiful,” he chastised, shrugging his jacket off and dropping it on a chair. The duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder, carrying their street clothes, followed unceremoniously with a gentle _paff_ , sliding halfway off of the chair the moment it contacted.

“Couldn't bloody understand a word of it. I don't speak Italian. No idea what was going on,” the bushman ranted, tearing off the offending tie and going to work on the buttons of his waistcoat. “All I could tell was blokes and sheilas were upset about somethin', and then everyone died.”

The opera had been a large affair full of pomp and more pomp, a music hall packed with well-dressed people there to watch the spectacle of voices larger than life enacting a spectacular tragedy. Dragged along by his enthusiastic lovers, Sniper had sat slumped in his seat, frowning, wishing he'd brought a book or something. He'd ended up resorting to taking a mental inventory of repairs he needed to do on his van the next time he'd had the time. When he ran out of things to repair in his head, he settled on fantasizing about what he'd have to do to get Medic to make sounds pitched as high as the sopranos onstage.

“That's a relatively accurate, if bare bones, summary,” the doctor chimed in, shedding his waistcoat, his jacket and tie already neatly folded in the open drawer of the dresser at one end of the room. “It is not entirely necessary to understand the language to feel the emotion of the music, and to understand the body language and the plotline.”

“Da, music is universal. Do not need words to feel,” Heavy echoed, dropping his tie and waistcoat on the chair. He worked hurriedly on the buttons of his shirt, feeling confined in the handsome tuxedo he had been contained in all night. It was perfectly tailored, a custom job that suited the broad, tall man handsomely, but always served to make him feel closed in. He knew he looked regal, imposing and powerful in such wear; Medic had told him once himself. In spite of this, it was a different sort of weight to the fabric that did it. It was not the familiar weight of his flak jacket and short-sleeved shirts. Instead it was close collars and ties and buttons and delicate notions he always feared for the integrity of. Shrugging his shirt off, he looked over to notice his companions following the lines of his arms up to his shoulders, tracing the muscle along him with their eyes. If such an unveiling could halt a conversation and elicit such a response, it seemed worth the mild discomfort.

Sniper was the first to snap back to the conversation, tossing his waistcoat aside dramatically. “How am I supposed to feel when I can't understand what's going on?”

“Context,” Medic countered, his shirt now neatly folded and his undershirt joining it. “Look, if it is so important to you, Schatz, next time I can translate for you, if you'd like.”

“Wait, you speak Italian?”

“Ja, I thought you knew.”

“No I didn't bloody know!” Sniper fussed with his last buttons, dropping his shirt and pouting.

“Oh. Aha, entschuldigung,” the doctor laughed a bit, awkwardly. “Ach, well, I do. And I can explain to you the plot of this one in the morning if you like. It was rather beautiful.”

“Is not only thing beautiful,” Heavy added, smiling at Sniper as he took off his undershirt, then to Medic, tugging his belt free. Both men had been the picture of dignity and elegance that evening, save for Sniper's dramatics during the opera. Tall, slim, lean men in tailored tuxedos, their dark hair matching the dark fabric of their suits, pale blue ties matching their eyes. Their limited palette only served to highlight the handsome lines of their long legs, their slim waists, and their comely faces. Medic certainly held a distinguished air, his silver temples and small spectacles matching his perfect posture, but the sheer rarity of seeing Sniper so dressed was in itself a thrilling novelty. He wore it well, making it all the sadder he did not wear it more.

“Danke, mein kuschelbär.”

Sniper simply chuckled, then realized what Medic had said before. “Wait, next time? There's going to be a next time?”

“Won't be for a while,” Heavy reasoned.

“We can make it up to you for humouring us, if it helps, Schatz.” The doctor rounded on his shirtless lover, a predatory smile on his lips.

“Can make it worth your while,” the big Russian agreed, approaching from the other side.

“Worth me while, eh? How you two gonna do that?”

Heavy lowered to his knees and quickly opened Sniper's fly, tugging his trousers and underwear down, hands sliding up the lanky gunman's slim legs.

Medic's arms found their way around the taller man's torso from behind, one resting on his hip, the other running through his chest hair as he began to gently bite at his neck.

His eyes fluttered closed as they began their task, melting into the touch of his lovers, his frustrations flowing away, rushed out by the tide of comfort and pleasure that came rolling in, hands and mouths roving his body in perfect tandem.

Heavy chuckled darkly as the assassin began to grow in his hands, his flesh heating up as it expanded, something he always enjoyed watching up close. Making such things happen to his lovers never ceased to amuse and arouse. Leaning forward, he lapped gently at the head of Sniper's cock, teasing around the edge, then dragging his tongue down to the base and back. A soft murmur from above encouraged him, and soon he found his lips wrapped around the bushman's fully-erect manhood, his tongue pressed against the underside as he slid forward, taking more and more.

Sniper arched forward into Heavy's mouth, sliding in to the base, too enthralled in the sensation to be impressed by the big man's feat of swallowing. Behind, Medic ground his still-clad groin against his lover's backside, hot pressure in the front of his trousers harrying his bare bottom. Those gentle bites became lingering ones mixed with kisses, then soon he was biting hard, sucking on flesh, snaking his tongue out to caress warm skin. He would have marks in the morning. Dimly, he wondered if Heavy had remembered to grab a collared shirt for him.

Shaking, unsteady breaths chased each other from Sniper's lungs, barely leaving space for the air to get in. Red-faced, he leaned into Medic, trying to figure out where to cling to who. He was given his answer when the German pushed him gently forward to bend over Heavy, supporting himself on the big man's shoulders. Shuffling behind him, then heat against his ass, Medic had taken off the rest of his clothes, and was now leaning back into the taller man, pressing threateningly against his backside. Not threateningly, promisingly. The Australian sighed audibly, Heavy's head bobbing slowly, his tongue dragging long, firm strokes along him, enveloped in that wonderful wet heat. He looked down, cherishing the view. The big Russian with his wide jaw and his aquiline nose, his balding, shaven head, soft lips framed by stubble wrapped around his cock, sliding in and out, Heavy's saliva glistening in the lamp light. The sight alone was enough to make him weak apart from the magical things that broad tongue was doing to him.

Behind, the heat of Medic's erection left Sniper, only to be replaced by a warm, slick finger sliding between his cheeks. His eyes widened. He hadn't even realized Medic had grabbed the lube they'd packed, but he soon didn't care. Pressing in, the doctor found little resistance, the lanky gunman's body practically putty in the hands of his lovers, boneless and ready to collapse into a puddle. He had an elastic, rubbery quality that spoke volumes of Heavy's proficiency, and only urged the German onward, probing him deeply and quickly adding a second finger.

Sniper's groans grew louder, more insistent. The biting, the grinding, those were one thing, but an assault from both angles was another thing entirely. As Medic opened him, his shoulders began to shake, his arms and legs wobbling, his shallow thrusts into Heavy's mouth growing more urgent. He didn't want to come so soon, but he couldn't find the words to halt either man. His laments on language earlier bore down on him as all ability to form coherent words left him, cast to the four winds in a flurry of syllables and syntax. Fluttering away past his fingertips, which grasped desperately at the big Russian's soldiers as the digits opening him slid out, to be replaced with something far more satisfying.

Slick and hot, sliding in slowly until hips met cheeks, Medic filled Sniper, his arms wrapped around the taller man's torso, holding him close. It was so much, it was too much. Roiling up within him, the twisting, wriggling, weightless sensation in his guts pooled together and flooded out of him, the force of his climax shook him bodily, emptying himself into Heavy until he felt barren and hollow of anything but Medic deep within him. Looking down, blue eyes gazed up at him as the big man pulled slowly off of him, those perfect lips sliding off of him, then smiling as he swallowed his lover's seed. He planted a soft kiss at the tip of Sniper's cock, then rose to his feet, eagerly removing his own slacks, desperate to release his own aching manhood from the confines of the tight linen he wore.

Medic pulled Sniper back with him onto the bed, falling onto his back the taller man lying atop him, back to chest, and began to thrust slowly up into him. The Australian lay limp atop him, panting, grunting softly as the slim doctor slid in and out, brushing all of the right places inside him, making him squirm. Then, the lamp light grew into shadow, and looking up, he saw Heavy bearing down on him, nude and erect, stroking himself leisurely. He leaned down and kissed a line up the slim gunman's belly to his chest, burying his nose in the collection of hair there and inhaling deeply, taking in the pheromone-laced scent of his lover. His hands ran up both men's legs in turn, giving Medic no small amount of trouble in his already-difficult thrusts.

He tapped at the German's thigh, alerting him to his interest. Medic looked over Sniper's shoulder and grinned, raising an eyebrow. Heavy licked his lips, and that was enough signal. The German gathered his arms beneath Sniper and pushed the limp assassin up to be half-seated on him, Heavy grabbing him and helping pull him up to be seated, and off of the doctor, holding him close as Medic got up onto his knees. Grabbing hold of the Australian's hips, he tugged him back over, Heavy releasing him to lie on his hands and knees between them, watching breathlessly as his older lover re-entered the one between them. One large hand found its way beneath Sniper's chin, lifting him as he held his cock out to his lips. Obediently, hungrily, the bushman took Heavy into his mouth, moaning around him as Medic slid in all the way to the hilt. The big man groaned at the sensation, the perfect mouth around him, and sifted his fingers through the Australian's short hair as he cupped the back of his head. His eyes closed, his head tilted back, he let himself be enveloped in the moist warmth of his lover's mouth.

Medic gripped those thin hips tightly and began thrusting with force, taking his pleasure of Sniper, filling him repeatedly, his soft, needful grunts joining those of Heavy's in a sensual duet. Each thrust pushed the big Russian deeper into the bushman's mouth, a dual assault that had Sniper's head swimming with sensation. Every cell, every organelle was a consciousness unto its own, all screaming in elation, in jubilant exaltation. Hairs stood on end, reaching to the sky in reverence, flesh buzzing with the litanies of his lover's ministrations. The slap of flesh and wet, slurping sounds played accompaniment to their chorus of moans, three men in perfect harmony.

When at last they rose to their peak, it was Medic who was first to descend, filling Sniper one last time, heat blooming within him as he spilled himself inside his lover. Not long after, with the hoarse cry of the doctor in his ears, Heavy followed, bent over Sniper as he came. The bushman pulled back a bit and swallowed once, then off of the big man's cock entirely to finish swallowing the rest. His front fell to the bed first, followed by the rest of him as Medic pulled out of him, flopping to his side with an arm thrown over his back. A few moments of stillness, of collecting himself, and Heavy crawled along Sniper's other side and curled up against him, his arm joining Medic's.

Words slowly returned, slithering back into Sniper as the haze of his own satiety began to lift. “So, er, when's the next performance, then?”

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Lux, Tumblr user tf2shitfest.


End file.
